Right Here With Me
by crypticnotions
Summary: What happens if Ian Murphy never shows up to Blur that night? *AU for season 3's Lady Killer*


Summary: What happens if Ian Murphy never shows up to Blur that night?

AN: Don't own.

I actually loathe writing smut. It's not my forte and I continue to give props to those of you who consistently write delicious steamy scenes.

This fic is inspired by a request by ohbeautifulangel on Tumblr for someone to write a Careese story around "Drunk in Love" or "Partition". If you know these songs you know this is pretty close to PWP and smutty as all get out. So, yeah. That's the warning.

* * *

"He like to call me Peaches when we get this nasty."-Beyonce, "Partition"

* * *

"Goodnight, Fusco." She calls out to her partner as he steps out of the limo.

"Night, Carter." Lionel nods to John.

Joss sighs.

Tonight is a bust. Their mark, Ian Murphy, doesn't show. Finch traces him to a holding cell at a jail near the club. Anyone who owes as much as he does in parking tickets should probably not drive thirty miles over the speed limit around town, especially in a flashy luxury car.

Instead of hailing a cab to head to an empty house, Zoe and Shaw convince her to stay at Blur and sip drinks that eligible men send them from nearby tables.

"Why the hell not? We're already dressed up," Shaw says and tips her head and lifts a shot at the man at the bar who sent that one over.

Joss doesn't drink much and this isn't her scene. She prefers sit-down dinners by candlelight and less electronic music. She still allows Marcus Temple, a lawyer with smooth deep brown skin and a neat fade haircut, to lead her to the floor where they move to the beat until she tires of his wandering hands.

They stay until they realize Zoe is more than a little tipsy and subject to go home with the man who continues to send over drinks. Then they load into the limo. Joss finds herself squash between the far window next to the partition and John.

She takes a look around at the plush black leather seats and pristine matching carpet. She watches Shaw push various shiny buttons lining the seats and watch as things light up and descend from hiding places. Lionel even pours himself a Scotch from the secret bar embedded into one of the unoccupied seats. Joss shakes her head. She wonders once again just how rich Finch is.

They drop Zoe off first. Joss vows to phone her the next day to see how badly Zoe's hangover treats her. Shaw is next. The woman looks between John and Joss before saluting them with two fingers she shifts quickly from her temple. Joss is certain they let Shaw off at some place that is nowhere near where the woman lives. Shaw's even more secretive than John. Still, Joss can't overcome something close to affection for the woman.

With Fusco gone, she finds herself alone with John. She expects him to move to the seat across from her, but he doesn't budge. In actuality, it feels like his leg presses closer to hers. She briefly wonders if she drank too much herself, but she knows she didn't. She nurses one glass of wine for half the night and barely sips on the one that Zoe convinces her to take from Mr. Grabby Hands.

The truth is there is a thickness in the air between her and John. She catches his eyes in the crowd while she shimmies against Marcus and she swears she worries about Marcus' safety even though John remains perched across the room.

Now Joss ignores John and looks out the window. The deep tint of the glass reminds her that no one can see inside, but she gazes at the lights and buildings and people flowing pass their moving vehicle.

She hears sirens and groans when the limo slows to a crawl. She knows the ten minute ride to her place is going to take forty five minutes now that traffic is piling up bumper to bumper. She contemplates how much pain she will be in if she attempts to walk home in these heels when she feels a hand on her leather-covered leg.

"What?" She turns to John to ask what the meaning of this is, but she is taken back by the look on his face. She swallows hard. What the hell?

"You're a tease, Joss," he rasps.

She frowns. What? What is he talking about?

His hand squeezes her leg and she looks down at it.

Then she knows. It is when Zoe heads to the bar for her third refill that Shaw asks Joss if she and John are just friends. Joss laughs and cockily says that John can't handle her. She forgets that they connect to a central audio system that John and Finch can listen in on. Still, she isn't ashamed. It is a joke.

Except John isn't looking at her like he finds it funny.

"John, I didn't mean anything by it."

Instead of dropping it like she expects him to do. (After all, they are experts at this dance around they continue to do.) He gazes at her and presses gently forward. "Really?"

And they both know if she answers "yes" that she is lying. And god knows her curiosity has been peaked since he asked her if she was interested last year during that interrogation.

"It's nothing." A different lie. An easier one.

His hand shifts under the leather and rests against her heated skin.

She leans backward and stares at him hard, her eyes shifting between his.

"We don't lie to each other. We shouldn't start now." His fingers inch up higher and she groans.

"John," she starts. Her eyes involuntarily close.

He moves closer and his mouth brushes against her ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

She inhales harshly. "We shouldn't. Not here. What if the driver hears?"

"Trust me. He won't."

She opens her eyes.

His eyes drop to her lips. He leans forward and captures them before nipping her gently. His hand goes higher between her thighs as his other hand cups her face and holds her to his mouth. Their tongues touch lightly when she parts her lips. It's hot and sweet and tender, both a contradiction and not wrapped into one moment, and she becomes wet.

John's fingers reach her trimmed curls. He pulls back and groans.

"You aren't wearing underwear? You are a tease." And he does some teasing of his own. His thumb caresses her clit as he inserts one then two fingers slowly inside her.

She throws her head back, narrowly missing banging her head on the partition.

"John," she hisses. He strokes faster. "Yes." She holds his hand in place and rides his fingers until she shudders uncontrollably from the flash of her orgasm.

When she comes back to herself she watches his hand lift to his mouth and lick his fingers clean.

That is the last straw. She is on her knees removing his belt buckle and freeing his erection from its confines within his suit pants. Her hand grips his cock and she takes him into her mouth. His fists clench on the seat and he whispers "Joss" repeatedly as she glides her tongue across his head then takes him in her mouth again and bobs up and down.

Finally, "No more." He pulls her forward. Her fingers rip his dress shirt and she swipes her mouth across a taunt nipple. He gasps.

They struggle to remove enough of the barrier of her clothing. She ends up with the bottom of her outfit bunched up tightly on her upper thighs and the top unzipped and pushed down to her belly so that Reese can lick and suck her tender nipples.

She rolls on the condom John hands her from the limo's hidden stash. (She doesn't take time to analyze this last thing.) Then she eases herself down onto his cock.

They both groan and John grips her hair roughly when she finally grinds against him. She starts a languid pace when she notices the car inches forward. The hand not gripping John's shoulder smacks against the glass for leverage, leaving smudges in its wake.

John lets her control the pace for a while then his hands find her hips and help her match the newer, faster rhythm he establishes.

His face buries in her neck, inhaling the faint perfume dabbed there. His tongue doesn't stay idle and he traces the curve of her sensitive ear.

He shifts and tilts her legs forward so that each thrust goes deeper and also allows him to brush against her clit.

She closes her eyes at this new ecstasy.

"Oh, fuck, John." And she groans.

"Look at me, Joss."

She wills her eyes open to gaze at his and then comes again. Her body clenches and shudders against him. He pulls on her hair with one hand and she knows her scalp will be sore, but it will be worth if she can remember the look of bliss when he grasps the other hand hard on her hip and thrust harshly once more and comes deep inside her.

They look at each other again, this time in shock now that it is out of their system. She helps him discard the condom and zip back up and he hands her napkins and tenderly helps her shift her outfit back into something akin to comfortable.

When she arrives at her place she is not astonished to see him follow her out. Clearly the night isn't actually a bust after all.

* * *

AN Epilogue: Jossy "all on his mouth like liqua."

I made an artistic choice to keep as much of this in present tense, but I'm really not sure it works grammar wise so I may change it because there is a clear distinction between things that happened at the club and after. Tell me if it works for you.


End file.
